


Puppets Need To Be Sewn

by tardisfalls



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Consensual Sex, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Not So Consensual Underage Sex, Overstimulation, Possessive Bill Cipher, Reader is a murderer, Reader is also 16, Stockholm Syndrome, Trans Male Reader, Verbal Abuse, Yandere, Yandere Bill Cipher, slight physical abuse?, will change into fluff and shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-17
Updated: 2018-09-16
Packaged: 2019-07-13 08:59:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16014626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisfalls/pseuds/tardisfalls
Summary: Being mentally attached to a dream demon has it's cons. Actually, all of it is cons.





	Puppets Need To Be Sewn

The first victim wasn't your fault, you swear.

  
You weren't in control, you didn't kill them. You wouldn't. You wouldn't of dreamed of it. Taking a life? It scared you to think that way.

But here you are, humanoid demon looking over your shoulder as you claim another life, hand muffling their mouth, and what they see when they look into your eyes?  
They see fear, they don't see the one eyed demon grinning like a mad man- who threatens you and tells you do to this - they see  _you_. They see their blood splattered over your clothes and face, your eyes as dull as they could be, but most of all; they see pure fear. Like you aren't willing to do this off your own back. 

 

That's the last thing they see. 

 

The demon pats your shoulder when the jobs done, urging you to stand up and give yourself a high five, you comply to stand up and ignore his sarcastic comment. The demons been attached to you since you were twelve years old, almost four years ago - when you stepped foot into Gravity Falls, you were the first one to meet him, you thought he could be trusted, he told you that he helped people in need - that he dealt with people in more ways than one. You needed help, you wanted a friend and he was more than happy to be there for you. Again, twelve years old, social anxiety flaring and not having enough confidence to talk to anyone other than a floating triangle. You shook his hand. Oh god, you were so fucking blind. You met two twins not long after that, they befriended you imminently, they told you to watch out for-  _him._

 

And they tried to help- oh they tried. When you- weren't you- a puppet? is what he called it, they tried to dethatch him away from you, to save you from his influence. They tried their hardest and it worked for two days. Two days you realized that the demon was only there to use you, to betray you and by the end of it, kill you. But in those two days, you developed a better bond with them, you trusted them, the only people you could trust in this godforsaken town. They were your friends. You love them. Loved them. 

 

But he came back on the third day of the thought of being free. He invaded your dreams and told you things, showed you things that he would make you do the next time your body is venerable, hinting that when your a little older there would be things he would do to you. It made you sick. You were only twelve. You didn't sleep for days, the people who you were staying with got worried and didn't get the truth. No one would believe you. No one would help you. No one did ever help you again. You took yourself away from the twins, you were afraid of hurting them. Afraid of yourself. How the demon didn't invade your physical being since you were in such a vulnerable state confused you. But he was always there, somewhere, in the TV, outside, in the woods. You developed a fear of triangles, anything triangle made you scared and you ran off. but he had a plan for that, he always is a few steps ahead of you. 

 

 

It's now four years later; the twins are in California, they're safe. But you? You can't leave this town. If you tried you hardest to leave the town, it just wouldn't let you. It's because you're mentally attached to the demon- the dream demon. The dream demon that makes you take lives for his own entertainment. This was all nothing but a sick joke. He didn't care, that was it. You didn't matter to him, you kept him alive. 

 

 

His name is Bill Cipher. 

 

 

Bill keeps his hand on your shoulder as you walk, the body is evaporated into thin air, thanks to Bill and his demonic powers. He isn't a triangle, no, he has his own human vessel, one he created himself to appeal more to you and the others who have been blessed with seeing him. To the outside world, no one can see him, no one can hear him, but to you; you can  _feel_ him, you can feel his hand touching your shoulders, his body when its near you, you can hear him all the time. You're like a victim who was imprisoned for nothing. 

 

Bill tells you that it was nothing, what you just did, that it was only a joke and that you should lighten up more. For a second, you think that you should believe him. so far, no one has caught onto you, no one's thought about the missing people. No one cares. That's the reality you can never adjust to. 

 

 

Before you know it, you're back in your home. A place where you once felt sane, felt safe. But he lived here too, you see, the trick is- if Bill wants to stay alive, he has to stick with you twenty-four seven. You're never alone, never ever, he's always there. Sometimes behind a door, sometimes right next to you. Bill doesn't sleep, he stares at you while you rest your eyes, sometimes when you sleep. You hardly sleep because of this one eyed demon. 

 

"Geez, kid, you look like you've killed someone."

 

Bill comments, sarcastically. The blood of the last victim is still on you, you want to scrub it off then scrub off the shame. You don't deserve anything but shame. Bill agrees with you. You glare at him, your old emotional stance subsiding. There's times on the daily where you don't act like a wimpy little child, there's times (hardly) where you stand up for yourself. Only for... _things_ to happen, things you don't want to happen. but again, Bill doesn't care. You've still got marks, somewhere. 

 

"I  _have_ killed someone."

 

You resist the urge to clench fists, you know the trouble you can get into if you show violent attitude. Bill places his hands on his hips and raises an eyebrow, a cocky smirk on the corner of his lips. Those horrible lips. The things they've done. 

 

"Can't you take a joke, bright eyes? You're killin' me here."

 

Ah, one of those nicknames. Bright Eyes was the first nickname he gave you, a habit of his own, where he light up his hand and saw your eyes glow with wonder, you were so young and precious. Bill knew he got the right idiot to fall for his tricks. Bright eyes made you feel all warm inside when he first called you it, it made you feel appreciated and cared for.  

 

You close your eyes for a brief second, let out a deep breath and then open your eyes again. You have the rest of the day, if you hope with everything you have, you won't need to leave this house again for the remainder of the day. 

 

"Go take a bath, kid, get all that blood off you. I'll be waiting. I've got something planned just for you."

 

Your eyes glance to the television, that was turned off. This could mean anything ranging from; dead people, stacked from best to shitty, a trip to the second dimension or....those nights, or in this case, those afternoons. You didn't get those marks for nothing, they were earned in lewd acts. There were times where you hated what he done to you, where you hated his touches and his stupid annoying voice. But there were times where you craved it, where you wanted to know how little you mean to him and to feel his hands in places they shouldn't be. 

 

You just had to wait and see. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
